


bait and switch (and switch)

by kitcassiachan



Series: seen: a haikyuu collection [16]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends With Benefits, Light Angst, M/M, Mentioned Miya Osamu, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, References to Depression, no past: sunaosa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27358513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitcassiachan/pseuds/kitcassiachan
Summary: Step 1:Promise him a world you can’t give.Step 2:Follow through.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Suna Rintarou
Series: seen: a haikyuu collection [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711519
Comments: 19
Kudos: 222
Collections: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020





	bait and switch (and switch)

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea half-written but then Angst Week pushed it to completion. It’s not true angst in that the suffering is light and the ending is hopeful, but still. Always wanted to explore these two fools together even though I admit this is sadder than what I had in mind.
> 
> [ For Haikyuu Angst Week 2020. Day 1: Tier 1 “Longing” + Tier 3 “When Did It All Change?” ]

**bait and switch (and switch)**

“I know you miss him.”

“You do too.”

Wrong, Atsumu doesn’t allow himself to. But this is Suna and he sees through every front Atsumu has ever put up so there’s little use in lying.

“At least I’m open about it,” he shrugs.

Suna makes a disapproving sound. He should be dressed by now, on his way out. He should be texting Atsumu his usual, ‘thanks’ and ignoring him until their next game. It’s not often they linger in bed.

“What’s the use in being open?”

“Dunno, like we can talk about it?” Atsumu offers. They never have. When Osamu quit, both sobbed about it separately, though the pain was much the same.

“Talk about your brother?” Suna raises an eyebrow. “While we lay naked in bed?”

His fingers touch Atsumu’s skin following the sinewy lines of his torso, down the ridge between his pecs, cutting across his abs to reach his hip bone: Suna’s fingers imprinted on top, yellowing—it’s been a week. Suna fucks him but has yet to break vessels.

“The team not giving you enough attention lately?” he mocks, pressing into his bruises.

Atsumu won’t wince. To wince is to buckle.

He laughs. “You’re not gonna fall for me if you talk to me once in a while, you know? Though, I am terribly handsome and when you realize I’m smart too, whew, it might blow your brains out more than I already do.”

Suna stares at him blankly. “I’ve known you since we were twelve.”

“Well don’t say it like that,” Atsumu chides.

“Like what?”

“All romantic and shit.”

“What’s romantic about it?” Suna deadpans. “I’ve seen you eat snot.”

“And more.” Atsumu wiggles his eyebrows, tracing Suna’s jaw until he gets his hand slapped away. “You’ve seen me eat ass.”

Suna rolls his sharp eyes. “You’re annoying—”

“I win—”

“There’s nothing to win! You’re so fucking annoying.”

“That’s what losers say,” Atsumu smirks.

Suna looks incensed but smiles faintly with only half his mouth. If Atsumu was as romantic as this sap beside him, he’d say something silly like it’s sweet how well he knows Suna, how he can predict everything that’s gonna come out of his angry, little mouth. Years of practice. Suna can speak to him in nothing but eye twitches, and he’d understand, quietly give him what he wants. Convenient for afterparties when they’re around others and need to make separate, quick exits.

Suna’s about to be mean.

“I miss him so much,” he snarks. “I wish he went pro instead of you.”

“Hey!”

He rolls over and throws his leg over Atsumu’s body to straddle his crotch, sitting on groin. As if he’d ever do that much work.

Whether Suna’s topping or bottoming, the one consistent thing in their fuck-buddy affair is Atsumu doing all the moving. If he tops, Suna’s against the bed, taking it. If he bottoms, he’s on top, riding his long dick, and Suna’s against the bed, taking it.

Atsumu pleasures him. And Suna can’t even care enough to decide. “What do you need?” he asks the second the door locks and they can get at each other. “My cock or my ass?”

It used to worry Atsumu when they started. Fucking Suna was like fucking a particularly pliant and warm blowup doll. He’d go silent and tense, say nothing even when he shot spurts of cum all over his belly, clearly loving it.

Not a talker, sloppy kisser, with his eyes always shut.

“You even into this?” Atsumu groaned against his neck once after emptying inside him with no condom.

Suna insists on ‘letting it leak out of him’ the whole week after. He’s into shit like that, claiming and marking and whatever else is hyper-intimate in a way they’re not when their dicks aren’t hard. He wants Atsumu to eat him out, sends him pictures of his hole, stretched and puffy, slick fingers inside, says things like, _“Missing you. Thinking of this. You get the best of me.”_

“Very,” Suna had whispered back, his whole body twitching. And his strong legs wrapped around Atsumu’s waist to pull him closer. “I’m possessive of you.”

“Is that what you wanna hear?” Suna smirks down him. “That I want him here?”

“Shithead,” Atsumu mutters, tracing his happy trail to where it tucks underneath his pajama pants, borrowed.

He has never been one to shave, made fun of Atsumu for wanting his ass waxed before joining the pro league. “It’s volleyball, not porn.” Because back then Atsumu had hope he’d find a proper boyfriend or at least proper sex, “with actual sounds,” and Suna never took it personally but they fucked a lot anyway, and Suna started yelping and mewling, and there was no time to fuck others.

“What, you think I’d sleep with him?” Suna provokes.

It’s weak bait, even for his post-coital, sated state. “Nah, you have too much respect for Samu to see him that way.”

Suna surprises him with a grin. “Damn right. It’s you, I don’t respect.” Weak, but effective. Atsumu swallows past it.

Suna grinds his bony bum back and forth on Atsumu’s dick.

There’s a tattoo on his ass from when Suna and Osamu got wasted their graduation night and sobbed over having to leave each other, commemorating the legendary “friend break up” with matching ink that no one’ll ever see.

Atsumu does. It’s not his favorite thing to look at.

Out of everything he and Samu have in common, how they treat Suna is not one of them. Osamu and Suna coexist comfortably, have inside jokes and smile at each other across rooms, while Atsumu and Suna have been arguing for as long as they’ve been flirting, so pretty close to day one.

“Fucked out already?” Suna taunts.

He’s rolling his hips—sexy in his gangly, hunched back glory, could have been a dancer, or so Atsumu thinks because he’s “whipped,” because Shouyou apparently knows how to dance and tells him Suna sucks at it. Unsurprising, seeing how bad Suna is at most things: cooking, sharing a bed, giving head.

“Tsumu,” Suna whines with a bounce that knocks the breath out of his cock.

He can’t get hard and Suna knows. He’s just being a bitch to redirect attention from how he’s barely eaten since he got here last night, “not crying” and the fact that they both know Suna shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t have the day off—skipping, running away.

Atsumu winces. “So you can be too lazy to finish me off again?”

“I’ll let you cum.” Suna shrugs. “I only didn’t that time because you can’t get hard for hours and I get bored waiting.”

“How thoughtful.”

He pulls on Suna’s shirt, borrowed.

Suna never brings stuff when he comes over and ends up curled in Atsumu’s pants and sweaters the entire time he’s here. Borrows what he asks for, steals the rest for Atsumu to find out in some Instagram post and comment all about it. _“At least, try to be sly,”_ Atsumu teases when Suna empties his closet until only the workout gear remains, and goes through that too, the Jackals logo on his chest.

“Come here, fuckface, cuddle me a little.” 

“You talk like a child.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes, holds back from muttering, “And what does that make you?”

He yanks harder until Suna’s laying across his chest, his hair tickling Atsumu’s nose. Atsumu strokes his back lazily, relishing in the pebbled skin. When Suna’s like this and quiet, he’s almost normal and it makes Atsumu almost want to whisper, _“Good boy. I got you.”_

“Don’t push it,” Suna growls because apparently, he has gone and said it.

“You’re not,” Atsumu reassures him, chuckling. “I still got you though. Nothing you can do ‘bout that part.”

He can feel Suna smile against his collarbone. “You’d’ve never liked me good, asshole. I’m not your shorty boyfriend who’s all rainbows and ponies.”

“No, you’re not,” Atsumu sighs.

Suna’s silent for a second. Jealous, likely. Atsumu doesn’t regret telling him that Shouyou confessed and that Atsumu said he’d think about it.

“So you’re dating—”

“No.”

“You can if you want—”

“I know.”

Atsumu could, but he’d end up missing this and there’s no point in dragging an innocent like Shouyou into their non-relationship politics.

Suna tried in high school and it only ended in tears and a cheater reputation he couldn’t shake off, though he didn’t technically cheat, not in a physical sense.

They were good, never once kissed on the mouth, but they played on the same team and spent so much time together, it was difficult to excuse why Suna wanted more, and cancelled dates to be around him.

Atsumu himself doesn’t know. He doesn’t ask. He’s used to Suna following, draping over him when they’re relaxed, breathing insults against his cheek, holding his hand but only to be annoying.

“I’m never gonna be in love with you,” Suna told him at sixteen when they’d spent their first night together, and woken up, mouths stinky, eyes bleary, not knowing how to process this new level of tenderness. “And I don’t want you doing that shit either.”

“No way,” Atsumu promised him, tucking hair behind his ear. “Never.”

“Even when we do it?” Suna smiled, because he decided long ago it would be Atsumu who he did it with first and Atsumu woke up every day for a year with an erection thinking of when and how. Atsumu’s half-sure Suna’s never done it with anyone else.

“Yeah.”

So Suna’s not his first love and won’t be his last anything but he’s Suna and Suna’s hard to quit. What they have—mutual loathing mixed with loneliness and half-drunk giggles—one of Atsumu’s favorite things to miss. What they don’t have—real dates, real kisses, real talks—one of his favorite things to hurt over, to want and celebrate not deserving.

He can’t drop it. “I know you were close to him back then.”

“We’re close still,” Suna points out, ever the consistent one. “Samu’s my best friend.”

“Samu says you don’t text back.” He’s prying.

Samu says Suna’s depressed. That he gets like this, and it’s hard to get him out of it once it’s begun. He needs people to be with him, to keep trying even if they fail and get rebuffed. It’s the trying that matters, he insists, _don’t leave him._

Like Atsumu ever would—Osamu’s the _leaver._

Atsumu stuffs his face and half listens because Osamu’s bad at remembering Suna chose Atsumu, and they’d be much closer as brothers if he kept that in mind. Osamu thinks he’s special because he worries about Suna like it’s his goddamn job.

“You know we fuck, right?” Atsumu snaps one night, tired of the lectures. “I fuck him all the time.”

“I know,” Osamu says. “He tells me.”

“Tells you what?”

“Nothing,” Osamu evades.

“What?”

“Nothing. That you guys are still doing this.”

“Fucking? Why wouldn’t we be?”

He doesn’t mean to sound pathetic but knows he did because Samu’s face is the same one he had on when he told him, “Tsumu, I don’t like playing anymore.”

“Are you really brokering my relationship with your brother right after fucking my brains out?” Suna asks.

“Can you not say it like that?”

Suna shrugs, always blunt. “It’s what’s happening.”

“No, I mean.” He’s remembering how frustrating it is to talk to him and why they don’t. “Yeah, ok, we fucked. It was great. Now that’s over. Now’s a brand new moment, and in this brand new, separate moment, I’m wondering if you’re lonely.”

Suna goes tense so Atsumu hurries to add, “I am, all the time,” to make things better but it somehow gets worse because now Suna’s pulling away without taunting him and dragging his body to his side of the bed. 

“What’s the next moment? Back to fucking? I suggest we skip there,” he says, facing the window.

It’s his side because he wants to sleep where he can feel the breeze on his face, Atsumu’s warmth on his back. He claimed it the same day Atsumu moved apartments to stop sharing with his roommates—who looked at him with pity, who Suna felt too shy to be around.

“So yeah, you’re lonely, cause you’re avoiding saying it,” Atsumu calls him out.

There’s a procedure to dealing with Suna that his all-knowing brother doesn’t seem to get. Letting him come to you is critical. Also important, the guise that you don’t care until he’s in your arms and then you care immensely, silently. Let him come, never let go.

“Fuck off, Atsumu. Stop being a good guy, you dick.”

“Don’t be bitchy, love.”

“I love being bitchy.”

“I know,” Atsumu grins. “I love that about you.”

He means it, wonders when it all changed and he started meaning things he previously used to mock. They babbled at each other like lovers because it was gross and lame and nothing like them. And now they’re like this.

“Don’t get soft.”

“I love being soft,” Atsumu copies. “Kiss me or I’ll keep being soft.”

“Fuck off seriously.”

He’s not. He needs this.

Atsumu will give it to him and Suna knows this too, but it has to be on his terms, and Atsumu’s getting tired of having to read the fine print every time it updates. It never used to be this complicated. If Osamu’s right and this is all some test, it’s an annoying one he wants to fail. At least then they might get back to how they were: undisputed. Suna knew without having to lash out that Atsumu would be there.

“Come, baby boy,” Atsumu lays it on thick, cooing.

Suna bristles, tucking his head into his shoulders. “Stop.”

“I’ll fuck you if you come,” Atsumu tries to lighten the mood.

At this, Suna turns his head. “Are you manipulating me with sex?” He’s amused.

“Is it working?” Atsumu jokes, easing him down slowly.

Suna’s gaze rolls down his body towards his dick. “I don’t see you hard,” he says, turning away and plunging his face into the pillow.

Once, he stayed in bed for two days straight. Atsumu let him, fed him, changed him, sat beside him when he could. If it’s his patience that needs testing, Atsumu will remind him he already waited twelve years. _It’s only seven for the ginger,_ Suna says.

Atsumu reaches for his phone on the bedside table. Suna must notice from the blue light filling the darkening room because he chooses that moment to speak up.

“I hate when you talk about him,” he mumbles. “It’s like you fuck me to win.”

“Win what?” Atsumu asks, phone forgotten. He grabs at Suna’s shoulder to roll him on his back. “What, is Samu into you? I’m gonna kill him.”

Suna rolls his eyes. “I never liked him, you know?”

He doesn’t know, doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to think about what he doesn’t know. Osamu used to hang out with Suna alone, said Atsumu did nothing but annoy them so he has never known. He was never invited.

“Stop shaking. I didn’t,” Suna emphasizes, holding his hand to unhook his fingers from fisting the sheets. “But like...”

“Like what?”

“Stop fucking freaking out, idiot,” Suna snaps.

“Spit it out,” Atsumu matches his volume.

“But like you want me to,” Suna rants. “It won’t be fun for you if you don’t at least think I might be or something. You like the chase and if I told you there’s no point in it ‘cause you won so long ago... and you never asked me to fucking choose but yeah, I’d fucking choose your stupid ass despite you being nothing to me, you’d probably lose your boner.”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Atsumu snarls.

“Then don’t bring him up!”

“I only bring him up because—” Suna raises an eyebrow like he was just proven correct. He’s not. Atsumu doesn’t give a shit about winning. He just doesn’t wanna lose, not to Osamu, not when it’s Suna he might be risking. 

“Because he’s there,” he says. “You never pushed him away.”

“Why should I?” Suna argues, eyes going glassy. “I’ve like two fucking friends I can talk to and you’re making me—”

“You shouldn’t,” Atsumu hurries to cut him off. Suna’s gonna cry if he doesn’t and Atsumu knows he hates doing that. “Just... pull me closer,” he lowers his voice. “I don’t know, it’s dumb, how’d we get here? I was just trying to fuck you.” He forces a laugh, hand scrubbing through his hair. “Whatever, alright. I’ll never mention him again.”

Suna stares at him. Vulnerable. Unsure. It’s on Atsumu to reverse this, take them back to status quo where at least they’re together.

“Promise,” he smiles, “You know I keep my promises to you.”

“Wish you wouldn’t,” Suna whispers under his shallow breaths.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading. I spent most of october finishing zines so this felt like a comeback into fandom that’s why it’s a little on the short side. (KIT STOP MAKING EVERYTHING ABOUT THE STRUGGLES OF BEING A TWIN CHALLENGE)
> 
> I’d love to hear thoughts or if head-empty, a kudos would be kind. i’m always on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kitcassia/status/1323426348812046336?s=21).


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